My orgasm follows, and I scream, squeezing around him as his pumps become rough and ragged.
We’re both breathing hard when he slides out of me and I fall back against his chest.
A moment later, he gives me a sexy, lazy grin as he flips me to face him. “I’m fucking crazy about you, you know that?”
Hours later, we’ve showered, had lunch and yet somehow neither one of us have real clothes on. I’m still in my little black nightie and cotton bathrobe, and he’s in his boxers.
I’m wrapped in his arms, knowing without a doubt in my mind, I’ve fallen in love with Wilder Thorne.
“You heard what I said earlier?”
I stroke the scruff around his jaw. “That you’re crazy about me?”
He lifts my chin. “You own me. Every inch, inside and out.”
“Why do you sound sad about it?” I ask, reading too much into the undertone.
“Because it’s not easy being owned. Complicates things.”
I kiss his jaw. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Maybe, but I’ve been burned before, Blue. By someone who I thought lived and breathed the same things I did.”
“There’s no one else,” I assure him.
He brushes his thumb against my bottom lip. “I know. I know it’s not the first time I’ve asked and I’m sorry for that.”
I stop him there. “Wilder. Don’t be sorry. It’s completely justifiable.” I touch his cheek. “And I’m not ready to leave you either.”
“Then don’t.Stay, Blue.”
“Rose!” A sharp roar cuts through the air, followed by heavypounding.
Whatonearth?
Wilder hardens beneath me. His eyes are fiery as he recognizes my brother’s voice.
Another bang. “Open this door right now.”
“That fucking does it. Stay here,” he commands.
“No. No,” I plead desperately. “I’ve got this. Please. It’s probably just—oh hell, I don’t know what it is this time. Just please wait here and be quiet.”
He paces my bedroom. “I don’t like it, Rose. He’s got no right banging down your door like that.”
“Please stay here,” I beg quietly.
He glares at me like he’s seconds away from losing it.
Then nods.
I race out in my robe and unlock those damn locks, which are beginning to feel ridiculous. I’m fine. I don’t need these. Why did I ever think I did?
Except maybe to keep my stupid brother out.
I pull the door open. “Christ, Rose. Hell is with these locks,” Wes growls, stalking in like he lives here.
He’s carrying a stack of mail—some opened, not surprising. Wesley likes to ensure I’m on top of my bills and pays anything outstanding. Which I’m both grateful and offended for. But I choose my battles.
